


Idiosyncratic

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dipper helps plan his sister's wedding while simultaneously juggling relationship problems of his own.





	1. Limerence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a ton of angst and nONE OF Y'ALL CAN STOP ME

If one thing was for certain, it was that Dipper did  _ not  _ want to be woken up early on a Saturday morning.

However, he  _ was  _ woken up early on a Saturday morning, and it wasn’t due to the sleeping figure beside him, as it normally was—no, this time it was due to a light  _ ding,  _ a chime coming from his phone that indicated he’d received a notification. He’d woken up instantly upon hearing the noise, groaning; a similar reaction to the person laying in the bed next to him. A leg had reached out then and kicked Dipper in the side. He grunted in response.

“Why didn’t you put it on silent?”

“What if there’s an emergency or something?” Dipper protested, still rubbing the spot that had gotten kicked. Rolling over so he could sit on the side of the bed instead, he unlocked his phone and read over the notification. It was a reminder.

_ “Ugh,”  _ was the reply, but he could barely hear it. He pushed off the bed, the mattress creaking as he did so, and the tired, angry reply turned into, “Where the hell are you going?”

Dipper reached placed his phone atop that dresser that was across the room and opened a few of the drawers so he could take out clothes. He was holding a nice pile in one arm when he said, “Out. Remember when I said Mabel’s coming to town to visit? Her plane’s gonna be here soon. I have to go meet her at the airport.”

“Cool. Bring back food.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I will,” he promised, as he slipped out of the room, closing the door on the way out as to give the other some rest. A cranky, sleep-deprived Bill was not a good one.

He got dressed in the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking the pajamas he had been wearing and heading into the laundry room, throwing them into the washing machine so they could be taken care of later. After wrestling with his hair he threw on his shoes, which were sitting on the mat near the front door, and left, making sure he had his keys on him and locking the apartment door. He didn’t necessarily live in the bad part of town, but one could never be too careful.

The ride to the airport was a fast one, the radio silent—though Dipper was sure that bliss was going to come to a halt once Mabel got in the car—and his fingers tapping at the wheel whenever he would come upon a red light. He knew the plane didn’t land for a while yet, but he still didn’t want to be late. That would be bad.

Soon enough, though, he arrived; and he sat in his car in the airport’s parking lot for about thirty minutes. It didn’t take long for him to feel like an idiot. Maybe he had set the reminder to come up a bit  _ too  _ early.  _ I’m literally my own undoing,  _ he thought.

He stared at the huge doors that were the front entrance for the longest time. He’d just been questioning if Mabel’s plane was even going to land at all when the doors slid out and his sister slipped out, looking happy and excited. He opened his window and stuck his head out, waving. It took her no longer than a few seconds to spot him, and when she did she ran over at a speed Dipper wasn’t sure she could accomplish.

“Oh my God, how are you?” she asked as he got out to give her a hug, then took her bags to put in the trunk. She didn’t wait for a response, continuing, “Did Bill ever take that fashion advice I gave him? I mean, yellow is a great color and all, but he would look  _ really  _ nice in gre—”

“Where’s your fiancé?” Dipper asked, suddenly confused.

Mabel’s expression shifted for a second, mirroring exactly how he felt. “Oh, he’s just so slow.”

“I think it might be because you’re too  _ fast,”  _ Dipper counted, meaning it as a joke; but he was sure Mabel hadn’t listened to him, because she was running away from him as fast as she had come, squealing. Dipper’s puzzlement grew before he realized she was just running over to embrace her said fiancé, who had just exited out the front doors.

It took them longer to approach this time, arms slung around each other’s shoulders and both smiling widely, like a happy couple about to be married in a few months would. Dipper frowned at the sight despite knowing he should be happy for his twin.

“Okay, okay,” Mabel was saying, opening the passenger side door and plopping down in the seat, “if Bill’s not following my advice, you’re gonna need to kill him for me, Dipper.” This only earned caused Dipper’s frown to deepen as he stuffed the other bags in the trunk. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why aren’t you saying anything to me?”

Dipper hesitated; then he settled on shaking his head. “Nothing,” he lied, slamming the trunk shut harder than he had meant to. He cringed at the sound of the luggage rattling inside, but opted to ignore it as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Tad,” Mabel cooed to her fiancé as he slid into the back seat. She turned into her seat to face him. “Ask Dipper what’s wrong, because obviously he’s not going to answer  _ me” _ —she paused and threw a hand over her face for dramatic effect—“his own flesh and blood.”

Tad only laughed. “If he’s not talking to you, then I doubt he’s going to talk to me.”

_ Damn straight,  _ Dipper thought, his lips pressed into a thin line. But he again chose to ignore it and turned the keys in the ignition, saying, “So what do you guys want to do for breakfast? Bill told me to bring back food, anyway.”

Mabel clicked on her seatbelt. “Why would he tell you to bring back food if he can make his own? He can cook, can’t he?”

“Well, yeah, he can,” Dipper replied, putting the car in reverse. He looked in the sideview mirror and began to back out his spot a little. “Lately he’s been in a sort of a...slump, I guess. He hasn’t been cooking as much.”  _ Or doing much of anything,  _ he added on mentally, choosing to keep that bit to himself. He didn’t want to make Mabel or Tad worry by saying that.

“Poor guy,” Mabel said. “I hope he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Tad told her, and Mabel nodded.

Dipper, however, kept his mouth shut, putting the car in drive and heading out. Mabel cheered and turned up the radio to max volume, then threw her arms in the air as if they were having their own little car party. Dipper was sure that people from fifty feet away would be able to hear the music. Reluctantly, he decided to tell her so.

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Bro,” she said in response, waving one of her hands in a dismissive gesture. “Anyone would be lucky to get a glimpse of how much fun we’re having in here.”

Dipper smiled despite himself. “Nobody ever told me what they wanted for breakfast,” he pointed out.

“Um…” Mabel tapped her chin in thought. “McDonald’s.”

“Sweetie,” Tad said from the back seat, and Dipper glanced in the rear view mirror long enough to catch his reluctant expression, “McDonald’s hardly constitutes as a healthy breakfast.”

Mabel grinned. “I’m pretty sure most breakfast foods don’t constitute as a healthy breakfast.”

“She has a point,” Dipper chimed.

However so, they stopped at a café—that, conveniently, was only a few miles away from Dipper’s apartment building—and he parked on the side of the street. Once he got out of the car, he took some change out of his wallet and inserted it into a nearby parking meter. He didn’t put in a lot because they weren’t staying for long.

“Anyway,” Mabel was saying on their way in, twirling a piece of hair in one finger, “how are you doing? Is work alright? They’re not making you work too many hours or anything like that, right?” She grimaced. “Working too much is rough, man.”

Dipper held back a laugh. “You know you ask me that every time we talk to each other, right? And that’s every day. The answer is the same as it was a few days ago.” The three of them got into line to order, which was relatively long considering it was early in the morning.

“I  _ know,  _ but”—Mable released a breath, as if the answer should be obvious—“it feels so much different asking you it in real life.”

They fell into idle conversation about Dipper’s job—a sales consultant, which was a job that, surprisingly, paid really well, about an eighty-five thousand dollar annual salary—so caught up in the discussion that they didn’t notice it was their turn in line until the person at the counter was clearing his throat, grabbing their attention.

Dipper turned to the engaged couple. “You guys can get what you want, it’s on me. I’ll just get a coffee for myself and a bagel for Bill.” He  _ had  _ almost considered getting Bill a pastry before it dawned on him that Bill wasn’t a huge fan of sweets.

“You should eat,” Mabel pointed out, but he only shrugged in response. Groaning, she placed her order, and Tad did the same. Then they all went to a table to wait. At some point, Mabel had pulled out her phone and started tapping away, either texting someone or replying to someone on some social media site or other.

Dipper was the one to get up when their order was called—in his name, of course—and he grabbed the coffee while Mabel took care of holding the bags with the food. Dipper paid and they were leaving, the bell on the door ringing as they exited.

Nobody said anything until they were back in the car and Dipper was starting it, and that was Tad. “You were talking about Bill going through a ‘slump.’ What happened?”

_ To hell if I know.  _ “You should ask him yourself.” And that was all Dipper said before they were back on the road, an uncomfortable silence filling the car. Mabel must have noticed it, too, because she turned down the radio until the music was nothing more than a light hum in the background. Mabel and Tad ate their breakfast in the car in silence and Dipper left him coffee virtually untouched.

They arrived at the apartment building and Dipper parked his car, taking the keys out of the ignition and using them to open up the trunk instead skillfully, while he held his coffee in his other hand. He managed to hold two of the duffel bags with his free hand and left Mabel and Tad to get the rest, telling them he’d go on ahead to open the door for them.

Once he was in front of the front door to his apartment, he managed to drop the bags he was holding long enough so he could dig in his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door and undid the latch and pushed it open, picking up the bags again and heading inside.

He was just putting the luggage down when he realized that Bill was still sleeping. He headed over and knocked on the door to their room; and, when there wasn’t a response, he knocked again and said, “Come on, Bill, Mabel and Tad are here.” Of course, this didn’t brand a response, either, so he simply started banging on the door a few times, mentally daring Bill to not do anything.

“Coming,” came the response from the other side, at last, and after a second the door opened just a crack. Gripping the coffee he didn’t even realize he was still holding, Dipper slipped inside the room.

Bill was standing somewhere between him and the bed; but he quickly moved, crossing the space so he could sit on the side of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He rested his chin on the back of his hand.

Dipper sighed. “Don’t you want to come out and say hi?” This earned him a head shake from the other. “Why not?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Seriously, they’re going to get  _ married.  _ Can’t you get your head out of your ass long enough so you can go out and be happy for them? Just for a few days?” he pleaded. “For me?”

Bill didn’t even flinch. “Like any other stupid human emotion out there,” he began, slowly, ignoring Dipper’s questions, as he usually did, “love is temporary. Tell me, kid, what even is the  _ point  _ of marriage. First they love each other, they’re happy, that’s great.  _ But,  _ over time, that love and that happiness dwindles until it’s replaced with a sort of emptiness, one so great and terrible that divorce is really the only way to escape from this said emptiness and move on to find some other way to achieve”—he made finger quotes, his eyes rolled up into his head—“happiness.” He lowered his hands. “Honestly.”

“Let me guess.” Rubbing his face, Dipper sucked in a breath; and, only when he managed to recollect himself did he continue, trying to keep his voice even despite the sudden urge he had to argue with Bill on this, to tell him just how irrational and ridiculous he was being—even  _ if,  _ in a dark, twisted sort of way, some of what Bill was saying was actually true realistically. “Now you’re going to go on and talk about how it’s because of this that fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”

“Actually, that part’s a lie.” A small grin spread across the blond’s lips then, one that said he knew something that Dipper didn’t, that he knew something he wasn’t saying. But he  _ was  _ saying it then, clear as day, though more of it was in the undertones of his voice. “The rate of divorce has never gone over fourty one percent.”

“Why, exactly, does that matter to me?” Dipper asked, louder than he had intended to. Realizing this, he dropped his voice down to a whisper-scream as he continued, “Can you at least  _ pretend  _ to be happy for my sister and her fiancé?” Bill snickered and turned away from him. “Come on, Bill, don’t be like that. Not today.”

But Bill didn’t seem to be listening to him, reaching over and taking an orange bottle of prescription pills off the nightstand, twisting open the cap and dumping one of the pills in his hand. He made a gesture to Dipper, asking for the coffee, and Dipper handed it over, continuing to glare him down. Bill placed the pill on his tongue and downed it with the coffee. Cringing—he wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, right—he handed it back to Dipper, who placed it on the nightstand.

“So that’s it?” Dipper asked, incredulous. “You’re going to drink my coffee and not say anything to me?”

Bill closed the bottle and put it next to the coffee. “What do you expect me to say? I could cook you guys dinner tonight, if that would make you feel better. Go ask them what they want or whatever.” Without waiting for a response, he walked off into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind himself. Obviously that was the end of the discussion.

Dipper released a frustrated breath and swiveled around; for a split second he was surprised to see Mabel and Tad were standing outside the door, waiting for him to show them to their room, but then he remembered and held back the bile in his throat.  _ Right. _

“Follow me,” he said, closing the door to his room once he was out and leading them down the hall, his arms wrapped around his chest as if that would save him from some kind of unspeakable evil. The engaged couple didn’t question the scene, fortunately, but he was sure they had seen the...discussion he’d been having with Bill.  _ I can’t believe this.  _ He’d thought that things would go well for at  _ least  _ twenty-four hours.

He sighed. So much for that.

They arrived to the guest room Dipper spared for them, and he opened the door and held it for them so they could go inside. “I hope it’s good enough,” he mumbled as they entered, with one of Mabel’s around wound around Tad’s and the both of them examining the room curiously. They were quiet for so long that, for an instant, Dipper worried he had done something. He was sure he had cleaned it thoroughly and everything…

Mabel pulled away from Tad long enough so she could cross the dark room and turn on the light, causing the room to become so bright that they all flinched back a bit. She adjusted the light to a lower, more bearable setting and said, “It’s perfect.” At that, the tension in Dipper’s shoulders relaxed. “Yep, this will most definitely work.” She dropped the duffel bags she had been holding and turned to her fiancé. “Right, babe?”

Tad nodded. “Yes. Thank you for having us, Dipper.” He smiled.

Dipper smiled back. “It’s no problem, really. I’m glad to have you,” he said, and lowered his voice down enough so no one else would be able to hear him as he added, “unlike a certain someone else I know.” He let out a breath and resumed his normal volume. “Anyway, I’ll go get the bags I had from the living room. Be right back.”

He was picking said bags up from off the sofa when he heard breathing behind him and turned his head, only to see it was Mabel. For some who was usually so open and expressive, her eyes were unreadable, filled with something Dipper couldn’t quite recognize, and her head was listed to one side.

“Hey, shouldn’t you help Tad unpack?” he asked, walking past her, back down the hall in the direction of their temporary room. But Mabel stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. He turned to face her, some part of him already knowing what she was going to say.

“Don’t worry, he’s got it,” she said. Then she frowned. “What’s up with you, though?” She lowered her voice. “We  _ kind of  _ heard that conversation you were having with Bill and all and I just—is everything, like,  _ okay  _ between you two?” She emphasized the word  _ okay, _ giving it a double meaning.

Dipper hesitated briefly. But he was quick to pick himself up, forcing a nod. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, saying it fast, trying to sound casual about it. “It’s fine. That was just, uh...Bill’s been going through a slump.”

Mabel raised a brow. “Uh-huh,” she drew out. “You said that before.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.” Dipper sniffed. He could tell she didn’t believe him. “Don’t worry about it, Mabel. Please.”

She still looked skeptical, her eyes on Dipper in such a way he was guessing she was trying to read him, looking for something, the smallest clue, that would give away what the problem was. If she  _ did  _ find it, she didn’t tell; instead she reached over and took one of the bags Dipper was holding. “Alright,” was all she said before she started down the hall, not glancing back to see if her brother was following. Dipper chased after her.

“Uh, there’s one more thing,” Dipper said, putting his bag on the bed in the guest room, next to the one Mabel had placed down a few seconds before him. “Bill said he’s going to make us dinner tonight. He told me to ask you guys if there was anything in specific that you wanted.”

Mabel frowned. “What if he doesn’t have the ingredients for what we want, though? I’d hate for him to leave last minute.” Dipper shrugged, and she leaned forward, pressing a finger to her lips in thought. She turned to Tad, who was folding some clothes and putting them away in the bedside dresser. “Is there anything you want?”

Tad replied without looking up. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Mabel frowned, but turned to face Dipper again nonetheless. “Yeah,” she said after a moment, probably after some thought. “Anything is fine. Whatever Bill is comfortable with making is cool.” Then a smile perked at one corner of her lips, a reassuring one, Dipper realized. “I’ll love his food regardless.”

Dipper nodded. “I’ll go tell him,” he mumbled. He turned on his heels and settled on leaving the happy couple alone, closing the door to the room on the way out. Then he headed over to his own room, his feet dragging against the ground rather than moving in actual steps.

He walked inside and was immediately met with the sight of his boyfriend pacing around in a circle, one hand on his forehead as if he were attempting to remember something. The blond didn’t look up, not even when Dipper headed across the room in quick strides to step in front of him to halt his repetitive movements.

“Hey, what’s up,” Dipper said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question. Finally, Bill’s gaze lifted to meet his, expressionless and neutral as it usually was. Dipper didn’t understand how someone could be so lifeless and bland so much of the time, but he figured it was best not to question it now.

Bill’s eye twitched, like something was wrong. And Dipper was about to ask what that was when Bill was perking up, seemingly out of nowhere, grinning wide. He said, “I was thinking...Limerence is such a fickle thing, you know?”

“Limerick?” Dipper asked, confused. “Like, the dirty Irish poem?”

Bill ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes, like Dipper wasn’t getting something he was saying. But, honestly, what  _ was  _ there to get? Dipper couldn't understand half the things that Bill said.

“No, limer _ ence,”  _ Bill corrected, giving him an odd look. “Best defined as the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person. It’s a type of desire, yes, though it mustn't be confused with lust. Limerence is simply a  _ romantic  _ desire that is typically characterized by the need for the reciprocation of one’s feelings.”

Dipper could only stare; then, after a long, quiet moment, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I give up,” he said. “I don't have the foggiest idea of what you just said.”

Bill grinned. “Why am I not surprised to hear this?”

“Never mind.” Dipper grimaced and ran a hand down his face, saying, “What’s the point you’re trying to make again?”

“The point  _ is,”  _ Bill said, speaking slowly, making sure that Dipper was following along with what he was saying (whatever it was that he was saying), “limerence is a feeling commonly confused with love. Do you suppose that Mabel and Tad and  _ truly  _ in love with each other, or is just an obsession?”

Dipper punched his chest, angry. Bill didn’t flinch. “What would even make you think something like that?” he demanded, though he kept his voice low, keeping in mind that the said couple were literally down the hall. “You know it’s…” He trailed off, pretending to be searching for the right word. “Um, I don’t know,  _ rude  _ to say things like that when people are getting married? It’s bad luck. Besides,” he added, “have you ever even taken into consideration that people aren't just predictable pieces of data? Of  _ course  _ Mabel and Tad love each other.”

Bill raised his brows. “I don’t know what’s got you so worked up over this,” he commented, as Dipper peeled away from him in order to catch his breath. “It was a  _ joke.  _ You need to lighten up.”

“What kind of a joke—” Dipper started, twirling on him, his fists raised, ready to punch him again. But he resisted, his fists uncurling and dropping down to his sides instead. “You don't make jokes about that kind of thing.  _ Normal  _ people don't make jokes about that kind of thing.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,  _ babe”— _ Bill said the word slowly and with deadly amounts of venom, as if he were reciting the lines to some forbidden poem or a curse—“I’m not a normal person.”

“I know,” Dipper said, walking up to the nightstand and picking up his coffee—which had long since grown cold by now, two-thirds of it filled. Wasted. He dumped it in the trash; the entire time he could feel Bill’s eyes on him, burning into his skull, scrutinizing him. And he almost wanted to say something along the lines of, “Will you  _ stop  _ that?” but stopped himself when he realized that wouldn't make things any better right now.

He took a second or two to consider what was the  _ right  _ thing to say, his eyes falling on the digital clock sitting on the dresser. “You have to leave for work in half an hour,” he managed, his voice low, a whisper. He could barely hear himself, but Bill’s head listed to one side once he had begun speaking, indicating  _ he  _ had heard. “Just survive the day and cook us dinner when you get back and don’t do anything stupid. At least act like a normal person just for today, please.”

Bill opened his mouth, about to argue, but he closed it as fast, shrugging. He turned his face away. “Whatever works for you, kid,” he grunted.

There was something else Dipper wanted to ask him, too, but he only shook his head, realizing it’d be nothing more than an idiotic question.

But, despite himself, he lifted his head and look at Bill right in the eye and asked, “Do you even take  _ our  _ relationship seriously?”

To his surprise, Bill didn’t make some kind of joke or laugh at it like it was nothing. But what Bill did wasn’t what he would have expected, either; though, truthfully, Dipper wasn't sure what he expected Bill to do in regards to anything in general.

Bill furrowed his brows, his lips pressed into a thin. Then he muttered something under a breath, almost inaudible, before he was locking himself in the bathroom for the second time that morning, moving so fast that there was cold air in the spot where he’d been mere seconds ago.

Dipper took some time to pick up on the words; and, when he did, it seemed to sound as if Bill had said, “I take it seriously and that’s the problem.”

He tried to brush it to the side.

He couldn't.

Not even when Bill had emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later and gotten dressed without saying a word, much less making eye contact with him, heading out the door in what had to be record time. And, even there, Dipper stood still, frozen, confused and, oddly enough, shocked.

He was snapped out of his trance only when he remembered the happy couple down the hall and he shook the thought of those words out of his system, at least for the moment, and headed down the hall to check up on how they were doing. But Mabel had beaten him to it, because she was outside his room door when he opened, a small, forced smile staining her face.

She had heard again.

Luckily, though, she didn’t ask about it, and Dipper resumed the rest of his day as if it were a normal one—but with his sister and her fiancé in his home. It was a day off, as he had requested it to be prior, and he spent most of it with his face buried in a book or writing this and that on a laptop he had purchased recently for...professional reasons.

He’d been chatting with Mabel and Tad about wedding plans when the front door creaked open and Bill was entering, his face expressionless.

However, once he saw them all sitting together, he grinned widely and said, “So, who’s ready for the greatest dinner in the world?” He slipped into the kitchen without waiting for a response, but by then Mabel had thrown her arms in the air and let out a loud  _ whoop. _

It didn’t take long for dinner to be finished—only about twenty minutes—and when Dipper saw the food laid out on the kitchen table for them, he wasn’t surprised to see why it had taken so fast. The “greatest dinner in the world” was no more than Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, and oven-baked fries. But Mabel and Tad seemed to be happy with it regardless, so Dipper chose not to say anything about it.

Bill laughed and made jokes and acted like everything was fine during the meal; but, at one point when he made eye contact with Dipper, his grin faltered, laugh coming to an abrupt halt. It was fast, lasting for no longer than an instant, but Dipper picked up on it.

_ “I take it seriously and that’s the problem.” _

Dipper poked lazily at his Mac and cheese with a fork, his other hand rested under his chin.  _ Sure,  _ he thought sarcastically.  _ I can really  _ tell  _ that you’re taking it seriously. _

He remembered all that bullshit Bill had said about limerence. He wondered if Bill had been implying that their relationship meant nothing and it was only based on some stupid, fleeting feeling that came out of nowhere and disappeared faster than it came.

Because, a few months ago, Bill had suddenly stopped caring about everything.

Including Dipper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I marked this as Creator Chose Not to Archive Warnings, but a warning does actually apply to this fic. I just chose not to specify it.
> 
> Lmao welcome to Realistic Hell


	2. Shatter

When it came to most couples, the most frequent question a family member or a friend would ask would be, “So how did you two meet?” And, for Dipper, whenever he was asked this question he resorted to shuffling his feet and forcing an awkward laugh, all before quickly finding a way to change the topic of conversation, because that was the one thing he did  _ not  _ want to talk about; and for good reason.

He met Bill in a car crash.

In the rare case when Dipper  _ did  _ talk about when he met Bill—which had only been a few times, once with Mabel and another with his parents—the recipients of this news would flinch or tell him he was crazy for dating someone who had gotten him into an accident.

But Dipper hadn’t been involved in the accident; Bill had, and it hadn’t been his fault. A drunk driver had come from the side while he was driving; which, in turn, caused his car to spin and spin until it crashed headfirst into a telephone pole. It was raining heavily that night and the person who’d hit Bill promptly made a run for it, heading off at top speed.

The scene was devastating, and Dipper knew because he had seen the entire thing as he came in from the other direction. And, considering it had taken place on a dirt road that people didn't commonly go through, it would have most likely taken a while for someone to find the wreck.

As soon as the car hit the pole Dipper parked his own vehicle on the side of the road nearby, then removed his seatbelt and jumped out, running over to see what happened.

The screaming coming from the car was audible even twenty feet away. Dipper wasn’t sure what he was doing—running towards a car that could possibly catch fire and explode at any second, the rain causing his clothes and hair to become soaked in an instant, his feet splashing on the ground—but he knew it would be wrong not to help in any way he could.

It was the driver’s side that had been hit, and when Dipper saw the damage he could feel his heart stopping.

The door was jammed.

The driver was trapped inside.

It was dark, but Dipper could make out a few details; one of them being the dark color of blood. The screaming came to a halt, to be quickly replaced by the sound of laughter, cold laughter, and then the words,  _ “Fuck  _ everything, honestly.”

Dipper curled his fingers into the handle on the door, attempting to pry it open even though he knew it was no use. After a few seconds, he dug out his phone and dialed 911.

By now the driver seemed to have realized someone was there. “Are you the one that hit me?” he hissed.

Dipper lowered the phone, leaving the operator talking mid sentence, and replied, “No, I’m the one that's going to save your life.”

“Oh.” Silence. Then, “Carry on. And hurry, too, I’m losing a lot of blood.” The driver said this as if it weren't a deadly situation, humor in his voice. But Dipper could hear the pain laced in underneath. “My fucking arm—”

Dipper returned the phone to his ear and was quick to tell the operator what the situation was—she had asked him to repeat himself a few times due to the fact he had been speaking faster than he realized—and told her their location. This was met with a promise from the operator that the ambulance would arrive soon and instructions on how to help the driver out of the car. Dipper listened carefully, not hanging up.

“Help’s on the way!” he yelled over the rain. “I need to get you out the car!”

“Yeah? And how are you going to do that?”

Dipper activated the flashlight on his phone and shined it through the window; and it was then he caught his first glimpse of the driver, who had blond hair and tanned skin and eyes that were a deep hazel. The operator over the line asked him something, and he reiterated, “Do you have anything in there to break the window with?”

A moment of some banging. The driver grunted. “Nothing.  _ Fucking shit.” _

Dipper didn’t have anything, either. His heart was racing a mile a minute now. He told the operator the news, and she told him to look around the area, try to find anything on the ground that was strong enough to break the glass. He did so, shining his phone’s flashlight along the ground. For the longest time (but was only about thirty seconds) he found nothing, but then the light hit a rock. It was large without being overly heavy, and he smiled despite himself.

_ Bingo,  _ he thought.

He heaved up the rock, his phone rested in his shirt pocket with the light shining out. He headed back to the car. “I’m gonna break the window!” he told the driver, and lifted the rock. And, with a single, rough swing, it met the glass.

Nothing happened.

_ "Harder,”  _ the driver told him. “You have to hit  _ harder.” _

“But I don’t want to hu—”

“Don’t worry about me. You can’t make me much worse. Just give it all your might. Goddamn it, my life is  _ kind  _ of on the line here.”

Dipper hesitated but obeyed nonetheless, shifting the rock in his arms until he had a good feel for it. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he lifted it and swung it a second time, letting it meet the window much, much harder.

The glass cracked.

_ Yes. _

“Again,” the driver encouraged. There was something off about his voice, like he were trying to drink and talk at the same time. Dipper realized he was choking on his own blood. “Do it  _ again.” _

Dipper hit the window again. The crack on the glass grew larger, and this encouraged him to hit it again, and again and again and again. Before, finally, the window was falling apart, the sound of glass shattering loud and intimidating.

Dipper dropped the rock and reached inside the car, ignoring how the remaining pieces of the window dug into his arms, cutting his skin. He managed to get in far enough that he was up to his stomach inside the vehicle. He undid the driver’s seat belt and began to tug on his arm. This action was met with a loud scream. He pulled back and saw that his hand was stained with the other’s blood.

He made a mental note that that was the driver’s bad arm and settled on grabbing the other one instead, which, to his relief, was okay. He helped the driver out of the car through the window; and it had gone well enough—relatively speaking, because Dipper wasn't exactly skilled in the art of saving people’s lives—until suddenly the driver was falling forward halfway out, collapsing on top of Dipper on the ground.

Dipper had forgotten he was still on the phone with the 911 operator until he heard her voice again, asking how everything was doing. The driver pushed himself off of Dipper and was now sitting, clutching the arm that was bleeding terribly.

He told her that he’d gotten the driver out of the car, and was about to ask what he should do next when the driver was shouting, “The hood is smoking!”

Dipper took the hint. He helped the driver to his feet, the driver’s good arm around his shoulder, and they wobbled away from the car. They both scrambled into Dipper’s car, and Dipper reversed a little so they would be out of any possible explosion range.

“My  _ car,”  _ the driver whined, though Dipper thought there were other things he needed to be worrying about right now. “I can’t fucking believe— _ aaaah!”  _ He muttered something in another language under his breath, sliding down onto the passenger seat. He was clutching his arm again. “This is how I’m going to die, isn’t it? God, you cruel son of a bitch.”

Dipper gave him a wary look. “You’re not going to die.” He took his phone out of his shirt pocket and told the operator where they were now—and, before she could say anything else, he hung up and slumped down in his own seat.

He felt that he should have been worried about this man’s blood staining his seat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment because something else caught his eye.

The driver was wearing an army uniform.

Dipper opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it. “This is so fucking  _ stupid.  _ I mean, I  _ just  _ get back from where I’m stationed in Iraq—not a nice place, by the way, when there’s a whole bunch of people trying to kill each other—and  _ this  _ happens. I was thinking America was going to be the place where I’m safe, too.” The man coughed up blood then, the dark red staining some of his uniform. “I hate everyone.”

“Uh…” Dipper wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you for your service?” Was he  _ seriously  _ making small talk with a man who was bleeding out?

_ That’s it,  _ he thought.  _ I’ve done it all. _

“Anything to assist the corrupt government, I suppose,” the soldier replied. “Name’s Bill.” He spat out more blood as he spoke. It began to run down his chin.

“Dipper,” Dipper introduced, and reluctantly held out his hand. Bill shook it.

* * *

 

Loud snoring woke Dipper up in the middle of the night. He groaned and threw his arm out to the side, effectively hitting his boyfriend. This earned him a kick in his side, but he didn’t care. He rolled over onto his other side as the snoring stopped.  _ That’s better. _

It was quiet for a long moment after that, Dipper knowing that Bill wasn't asleep anymore—well, who  _ would  _ be after getting hit in the face?—but was just choosing not to say anything. He let out a breath and stared at the wall he was facing, though he couldn't really make out that much because it was dark.

The mattress groaned as Bill sat up, but Dipper ignored it. He closed his eyes and rested his hands under the side of his face, pretending he was asleep. He was still a little steamed about the fight...s they’d had earlier. But it didn't matter. They’d make up. They always did.

Wordlessly, Bill got out of bed. Dipper couldn’t see him due to him being on his other side, but he could picture Bill taking his bottle of prescription medicine from off the bedside dresser. Then he was popping open the cap and dumping a pill in his palm before placing it on his tongue and swallowing it.

This was followed by footsteps, then the bathroom door opening and closing. Dipper took the opportunity to sit up, too, and throw his arms over his head and stretch in a feline-like manner. So much for getting a good night’s rest for work tomorrow, he supposed.

He was about to lay down again when the door opened, the light from the bathroom spilling out. He had to squint, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change, but just as fast the light was being turned off and Bill was stepping out.

Bill walked halfway to the bed before stopping in his tracks, his eyes raking over Dipper. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but closed it, obviously deciding not to. Dipper could only think to stare at him stupidly in return.

Finally, Bill broke the silence.  But all he said was, “Oh, you’re awake,” which succeeded in making Dipper angrier. The brunet clenched his hands into fists.

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” He kept his voice at a low volume as to not awake the guests in the room down the hall. The last thing he wanted Mabel to worry about right before her wedding was his relationship problems.

Bill tilted his head to one side. “Fine. What is it you want me to say?” His tone was neutral, but the irritation lacing the edge of his voice perfectly matched how Dipper felt in that moment. “Please tell me, Your Highness.”

“Um, how about an  _ apology?”  _ Dipper tried. “You know, for acting like an ass?”

“I don't you, you were acting like a pretty huge asshole yourself.” Bill crossed his arms over his chest. “Want me to check yours for sticks? You can check mine, too.”

“Listen,” Dipper started, his nostrils flaring, “it would mean a lot if you’d work with me on this one. This is really important to Mabel and Tad and I don't want you to mess that up for them. What is it you have against marriage, anyway?”

Bill shrugged. “I don't have anything against weddings. I’m simply not a believer in throwing your life savings out the window to swear eternity for a feeling that goes away as fast as it comes.  _ That,”  _ he said, “is as much as a cheap money-making scheme for huge corporations as funerals are. And I should know. I’ve had to deal with both. Wasn’t a fun experience.”

“So are you the only veteran that doesn't care about happiness, or am I missing something?”

A snort. “Wow, that’s original. Haven’t heard  _ that  _ one.” Bill crossed the room the rest of the way until he was standing at the side of the bed. Dipper continued to eye him down, and he continued, “If you wanna get real, I’m a little caught up dealing with PTSD and my deteriorating chance at a good future to give marriage a second glance, thank you very much.” He craned his neck. “Please don't tell me you're getting any ideas.”

Dipper would have come up with a smart reply, but that last bit caught him off guard and his words came out in a jumbled mess. His ears burned, and he thanked the stars it was dark so Bill wouldn't be able to see him blush.

_ Married?  _ To  _ Bill? _

Honestly, he  _ had  _ mulled it over once or twice...but those were just stupid thoughts. Not to mention those said thoughts had occurred to him  _ before  _ Bill had become a complete jerk, so that said a lot.

So, yes, there was no way he ever considered getting married to Bill anymore. He was one-hundred percent sure of that.

Ninety-nine perfect sure.

Ninety-nine point nine.

“Whatever,” he managed at last. “It’s not like it would even matter, because you don't even care about that kind of thing, anyway.” He flinched when Bill moved to sit down next to him, but otherwise didn't respond to the action. “I might as well break up with you, though, if this”—he gestured between the both of them—“isn't going to go anywhere.”

“Now, there’s no need to be dramatic about it.” Bill rolled his eyes. “I still have a deep regard for your well-being. Don't get mad at me because I don't want to spend thousands of dollars for the sole purpose of repeating a verbal contract agreement that, must I remind you, doesn't even really mean much in the long term.”

Dipper let out a strangled noise. “You keep saying things like that and expect to make me  _ feel  _ better?” He buried his face in his hands. Then, after he moment, he moved to lay down, his back to Bill like he had done a few minutes ago. “Forget it. I have work tomorrow. I need to go to sleep.”

“Dipper, there’s no need to be so stubborn. You know I'm right.  _ Dipper.”  _ Dipper proceeded to ignore him, pressing his hands over his ears. “Alright, so it’s going to be like that. I see how it is.”

_ Yeah,  _ Dipper thought.  _ It’s going to be like that. _

“Hmmm…” Bill went silent, and Dipper hoped he would just go to sleep so they could both get a good night’s rest, but then he spoke up again, sounding enthusiastic. “How about I make it up to you?”

Dipper felt Bill begin to rub his arm and slapped his hand away. “Oh, yeah? Make it up to me, huh?” He wanted to laugh but couldn't seem to find the energy. “So you're going to apologize to Mabel and Tad and stop acting like a jerk? That would be  _ great.”  _ He could practically taste the sarcasm in his words.

“No.” Dipper bristled.  _ “But” — _ Bill drew out the word—“I  _ am  _ hoping that I would be able to take you and the lovely couple out for dinner. How does tomorrow night sound? After we both get back from work. I think my shift ends sometime after dark, but we should be able to find a place.”

Dipper shifted to face him. Despite it being the middle of the night, he could make out the smirk on Bill’s face and how it lit up his features.

“You’re not serious.”

“Quite serious,” Bill argued. His smirk widened. “Unless, of course, you  _ don't  _ want to do that. I’m sure Mabel would love it, though. She’s a sucker for that kind of thing.”

Dipper punched his shoulder and sighed. “Of course I want to do that,” he said. “It sounds like a great idea. But do you have enough money to pay for it? Where are we even going to out to eat? How late is the place down the street open fo—”

“Calm down, I’ll take care of it.” Bill rolled over onto his back and cradled his arms behind his head confidently. “So I take you agreeing to this double date as forgiveness?”

“Ugh, fine. But you need to lighten up about this whole marriage thing. Even if it doesn't last forever, Mabel needs to have at least a little happiness.”

Bill’s grin faltered. Dipper barely noticed it, turning away from him again as means to hide his excitement. He couldn't remember the last date he’d gone on with Bill. With their busy schedules and Bill’s unpredictable moods, it was kind of hard to find a good day.

“Don’t we all,” Bill said.

* * *

 

When Dipper woke up the next morning, Bill was already gone. But he knew that would be the case, because of weekends Bill usually went to work early in morning and came back late at night.

He would never tell Bill this, but he was actually really glad Bill had suggested the date. Actually, it was rather a surprise Bill had suggested it in the first place.

It was weird for Bill to ask about something like that, because, well...Bill was usually for talking about how the prison system didn't really rehabilitate people at all and that the only reason marijuana was illegal in the United States was due to racist politicians trying to make Mexicans look bad.

Point being, Bill doing actual  _ relationship  _ stuff was a rarity.

Dipper entered the kitchen, poking his head in first. Mabel and Tad were making bowls of cereal. Mabel’s hair was a mess, another rarity, seeing as she usually fixed it the moment she woke up in the morning.

“Hey,” Dipper said, walking in. “Did Bill tell you about what's happening tonight?”

Mabel squinted at him. “Human sacrifice?” she guessed. Tad gave her a look, but if she noticed she didn't make an indication of such. Instead she continued, “No, no, wait. Bill is bringing home a chicken for dinner, but, like, it’s alive and he’d planning to slaughter it in front of us.”

“The former honestly sounds better than the latter,” Tad mumbled, going over to grab the milk from the fridge, and Mabel snickered.

Dipper couldn't help but crack a smile, too. “Well, it  _ does  _ have to do with dinner. But Bill isn't going to be killing a live animal.”

Mabel thought for a moment. Then, “That means he’s going to—”

“—take us all out for dinner tonight,” Tad cut in, pouring milk in Mabel’s bowl. Mabel took it and stuck out her tongue at him.

“Y-yeah,” she said. “I was...totally...going to say that.”

“Wait.” Dipper eyed up his sister’s finacé suspiciously. “How do you know about that?”

Tad shrugged. “I made an assumption based on common sense,” he said. “And now I definitely know I'm right, considering you just confirmed it for me.”

This earned a squeal from Mabel, who was slamming her fists down on the dining room table on either side of her bowl of cereal. The slamming caused the milk and oats to slosh around, and Dipper hoped none would spill out. “Oh my God, dinner sounds amazing! Where is he taking us?”

“He didn't say,” Dipper said, pressing his back against the counter before pushing himself so he could sit on the surface. He rested his hands in his lap, folding them together. “Apparently it’s supposed to be really nice, though.”

Okay, so  _ maybe  _ that was a bit of an exaggeration, because Bill hadn't said anything along  _ those  _ lines—but Mabel looked to be super happy about it and seeing her happy was always made him feel warm inside.

“I can’t wait!” Mabel cheered, throwing her arms around her fiancé—who had just placed down his own bowl of cereal and was sitting down in the seat next to her—in a side hug. But she pulled away just as quickly, her smile falling away a little. “He isn't doing this out of guilt or anything, right? Because I would feel really bad about it in that case…”

Dipper cringed; he knew she was talking about those times she’d seen him and Bill arguing yesterday. And she might have been right about that, too, which was the worst part.

But an idea like that would be implying that Bill actually had feelings—or, at least, had enough feeling to have guilt. To which Dipper internally laughed and brushed the thought aside.

“No,” he said, “Bill is  _ definitely  _ not doing this out of guilt.” He was sure that was the case, anyway.

Mabel sighed. “Oh, good. I was worried for a second time.” She leaned into Tad’s side and ate a spoonful of her cereal. “So when are you heading into work today?”

Dipper checked his wristwatch. “I should probably start getting ready in a few days. I should be back around four.” He looked up. “Are you guys sure you’re going to be on your own? Because if you need anything you can just give me a ca—”

“Puh— _ lease,”  _ Mabel drew out, laughing. “We’re going to be alone in this large, beautiful apartment with DSL Internet and amazing cell phone signal. Not to mention a nice bed in the guest room, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows and Dipper froze. “I’m  _ kidding  _ about that last part. Probably. But that’s besides the point. The point is we’re going to be  _ fine,  _ we won't need anything. You need to stop worrying about us and start worrying about getting ready for work, dummy.”

Dipper pushed off the counter, still a little reluctant. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as all hell. Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

_ A lot of things could go wrong, actually,  _ Dipper thought, but chose to keep that aside unsaid. “Alright,” was all he could manage, and headed to his room. He began to get changed out of his pajamas.

* * *

 

Bill wasn't home when Dipper got home from work.

That was okay, Dipper told himself. Bill’s shift  _ did  _ end late at night. But as he took off his coat and put it on the coat rack he bit his bottom lip, having the slightest feeling that tonight wasn't going to go as he expected it to.

Mabel and Tad were sitting on the sofa when he got home, snuggled up next to each other and watching some movie on the Lifetime channel. Dipper stared at the screen for a good few minutes before addressing them.

“Do you guys have anything to wear for later?” he asked. “Bill never said how fancy it was going to be, so I don't know.”

Mabel waved her hand dismissively, not looking up from the screen. “I packed a whole lotta clothes with me. I’m pretty sure I have nice dress for anything.”

Dipper nodded and headed down the hall to his room, looking at the digital alarm clock on the dresser even though he knew what time it was. Then he sat down on the bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, staring out the window and waiting for the time to pass by.

He didn't know when he had dozed off, but before he knew it someone was nudging his shoulder and he blinked open his eyes, feeling lightheaded. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to see who had just woken up, but after a few seconds he realized it was Mabel.

“What time is Bill supposed to get back?” she asked.

Dipper yawned. “Not too late. Why?”

“It’s past eleven already.”

_ “What?”  _ Dipper’s head snapped over to the digital clock. She was right; about a quarter past eleven by now. His gaze returned to his sister’s. They stared at each other a minute. Then, without another word, Dipper took out his phone and called Bill.

It went to voicemail. He blanched. “What the—” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God.”

Mabel began to pat his back. “I’m sure he’s fine. He wouldn't… Has anything like this happened before?”

“No,” Dipper replied. “No, no, no…” He let out a sob. He lifted his head. “Where’s Tad?” he asked, deciding to bring his focus to someone besides his missing boyfriend.

“He went to bed earlier and told me to wake him up when Bill got back. I don't want to wake him up, though.” Mabel frowned. “Are you going to wait for him, or…?”

Dipper nodded. “I don't have any other option,” he mumbled.

Mabel sat down next to him with the promise that she would wait it out with him. Another half hour passed and she had fallen asleep, too, her head rested against her brother’s shoulders. Dipper didn't mind it, only adjusting her head occasionally so it didn't feel uncomfortable on his part.

He was about ready to lose his marbles when he heard the door open and close. He got up, making sure to not wake Mabel up in the process, and practically bolted down the hall to the living room.

Bill leaned against the door, groaning. His eyes shut and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the ground. He buried his hands in his hair.

Dipper walked up to him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Ugh, not so  _ loud,”  _ Bill mumbled.

“You’re drunk.” Dipper crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you drunk?” But he made sure to lower his voice; not because Bill asked him to, but because he didn't want to wake up Mabel and Tad.

Bill threw his head back against the door. Their gazes locked. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“But you  _ always  _ say that!” Dipper returned, his voice rising. Not by a lot, enough to show Bill how upset he was. “You always say that you're going to make it up to me, but then you go and—and do things like  _ this.”  _ He gestured to Bill’s entire being. “How can you possibly make this up to me?”

“Wanna get naked?”

Dipper paused. A heartbeat, two. It took him a little while to process what it was Bill had just asked.

“What?”

“Well,” Bill slurred, getting to his feet, “seeing as you're asking me a whole ton of pointless questions, I figured it would be best to ask you one, too. So let me ask it again; Wanna. Get. Naked.” He punctuated each word for emphasis. “It’s not a hard concept to grasp.” He pushed past Dipper and strided down the hall.

“Mabel’s in our room,” Dipper said, catching up to him.

“Well, then get her  _ out.”  _ Bill yanked open the door and nudged Mabel. She sleepily slapped at him, to which he responded by wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Somehow, he managed to get her onto her feet without waking her up. He gave Dipper a knowing glance before he was out of the room.

His brain fried, Dipper sat down on the bed and waited for him to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of foreshadowing in this chapter is insane.
> 
> Also, I just wanted you guys to know that I already have this entire thing planned out. I know how many chapters its going to be and everything. All I'm going to say, though, is that it's between 10—15 chapters and its going to have a...unique twist to it at the end. You have been warned.
> 
> Next chapter Bill and Mabel do some of the bonding stuff.


End file.
